skinny jeans end up never being high waisted enough for me, a lover of crop tops, so i made some suuuper high waisted skinny jeans. come in 5 plain swatches and 5 more with rips! new mesh, custom thumbnail, base game compatible. please follow my TOU.
In spite of everything I love
Harley Quinn but, damn, writers treat her so badly. I swear, the temptation to
make her actually stupid must be terrible because it’s so often implied, or
explicitly stated, that she slept her way through school. First of all, it
does not work like that. Second, she’s
not a therapist or a psychologist, she’s a psychiatrist, she’s a fricking MD
and a damn young one too. Managing pre-med and collegiate gymnastics that she
relied on to keep her scholarship? Harley is fucked up, but she’s not the dumb
blonde she plays. (also stop making her stacked, she’s a gymnast. she is 4’11”
of pure muscle and is not top heavy)
If you want a good Harley
backstory it’s simple. She’s ADHD but medicated and slightly robotic because of
it. I want to take special care not to demonize meds but, rather, people’s
disapproval of neurodivergence and a lack of focus on what is best for a
patient rather than what is most convenient for others. So, maybe, around ten
years old Harley is a hyperactive space cadet who’s brilliant at tests but
sloppy at coursework, who would be a gymnastics prodigy if she could actually
focus on technique and put in practice time instead of fooling around. Then the
meds come and it’s actually really cool because she can do the things she needs
to do instead of just wanting to do them, doing something else entirely, and
getting in trouble. People are proud of her, she’s proud of herself. But now
there are expectations. Family and teachers and coaches overschedule her, find
worth only in her success and don’t care about her mental health at all as long
as she’s performing and castigate her when she does fail. Fuck if you don’t
internalize that. But she doesn’t look unhealthy and she’s doing amazing. She
actually has to choose between the Olympic trials and continuing her grad
studies. She probably has some issues with self-harm but it either doesn’t look
like self-harm or is well covered up.
When Arkham accepts her, fresh
from her residency, it’s not a mistake. The woman is amazing. All they can see
is a mountain of achievements rather than the seething ball of nerves,
self-loathing, and imposter syndrome boiling just under the surface. That’s
when Joker comes in. He’s got the Hannibal Lecter shtick down. Where everyone
else sees an intelligent driven young woman he sees a frightened overwhelmed
girl who is working her hardest to convince the world she’s anyone other than
herself. Sending her into a nervous breakdown would be too easy so he doesn’t even
bother. Instead he’s open with her, almost friendly. The other doctors are
amazed, Harley is amazed, she’s not done anything particularly revolutionary
but, for the first time in forever, it looks like the clown prince of crime is
showing progress. He unravels her and it’s a challenge, she flinches back and
gets very serious when he comes too close to the real Harley under the
professional. Still, soon she’s questioning everything. She doesn’t even really
like her co-workers. She hasn’t had a real friend in years. She’s forgotten how
to have fun. Did she ever want this to be her life or did she just do it for
other people? It starts so slowly that it looks, at first, like she’s getting
better at self-care. Maybe something totally silly one weekend, a trampoline
park where she can enjoy the way her toned body moves without stressing out
over landings, a face painting booth at a street fair, some garishly colored
downright tacky decoration that clashes with her sensible apartment. Suddenly
she realizes how much she hates knowing the difference between cream and ecru.
The beigeness of her life is repulsive. She hates the person she’s pretending
to be even more that she hates herself which is really saying something.
After her weekend of freedom she
would have called in sick if it wasn’t so suddenly important to see him. The
relief she feels at talking to one of Gotham’s most infamous supercriminals is
disturbing but it is relief and she’s been swallowing a slow-motion panic
attack for hours. She admits, though she shouldn’t, that she took his advice
about doing something fun and he teases her, what would straight-laced Doctor
Quinzel do for fun? Did she realphabetize her sock drawer or buy a new
clipboard? It’s not important to impress him, it’s really not. He’s dangerous,
cruel, and he looks so proud when she admits that she bought a lamp shaped like
a lawn flamingo. The only mistake, he says, is that she should have stolen it.
She hopes the wicked thrill it gives her doesn’t show on her face. It does. She
almost even laughs. He likes it when he can make her laugh and she likes it
when he likes things.
It’s wrong and unprofessional,
the relationship she develops, and she knows it but her whole life she’s been
so high strung. Nothing she’s done has been for her, she’s not sure she knows
how to really do selfish things anymore, but he knows the selfish things she
needs to do. It feels good when she follows his advice even when it’s small
things like the rainbow striped socks she wears concealed under her very bland
slacks and sensible shoes. She’s so happy, almost giddy, and he loves her
happiness, he loves her, he loves the real her that she’s had to beat down and
hide for so long, the her that even she isn’t able to love. She is able to love
him, though, and since he loves her she’s able to love herself for him, to
protect and nurture something so important to him.
When the choice comes between
her old self, the tedious endless labor of making the world proud, and Him, the
spectacular man that brought color into her life, it’s not even a question.
She kills Doctor Harleen Quinzel, she throws away the version of her that let
herself burn just for medals and hollow accolades. She embraces Harley Quinn
and it’s so much a part of her nature she can’t even see that she’s still
living her life for someone else’s approval, except this time that person is a murderous
clown. She hasn’t let her hair down, she’s just put it in pigtails instead of a
I just wanted to request one where Shawn is SO FUCKING needy like really really and all he wants is for you to suck him and you do, so GOOD, so pleasurable he still can’t believe it
Lightly edited, so please excuse any mistakes(:
On the ride home from dinner Shawn shifted uncomfortably in his seat, constantly squirming around. It wasn’t until he brought his hand down to adjust the crotch of his pants that you caught on to what was happening.
“Shawn?” you asked, trying not to laugh as you raised your eyebrows, glancing from his bulge up to his eyes.
His cheeks were flushed as he quickly looked over at you then back at the road, licking his lips and leaving them parted for a brief moment. Unable to come up with an explanation, he laughed as an embarrassed smile grew on his face.
“You just look really hot right now, okay?”
You giggled and shook your head at him, looking back out the windshield in front of you. You let your hand travel over the center console and rest on his inner thigh, slowly stroking up and down.
A shaky sigh left his lips as he looked over at you briefly, but you kept your eyes looking in front of you. Your finger tips ghosted over the fabric of his jeans, slowly inching closer to where he needed you most but never high enough to satisfy his needs.
“Please don’t tease me,” he begged, his knuckles growing white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, a sly smirk on your lips.
He accidentally drove over a bump in the road, causing your hand to brush against his large erection. “Oh, fuck,” he mumbled in response to your accidental touch. “I need you so bad darling.”
“How bad?” you teased, turning your head to look at him as he pulled into the driveway.
“So fucking bad.”
He immediately put the Jeep in park and turned the key, taking it out of the ignition. He placed his hand on the small handle to open the door, clearly in a rush to get out. You quickly reached over and placed your hand on top of his, causing him to stop his actions. He turned his head to look at you, your faces only inches apart.
“Where do you think you’re going?” you toyed, sliding your hand up his thigh and pressing your palm against his bulge.
So imagine if instead of being notorious criminal overlords the FAHC were that one group of disgruntled office employees quietly sticking it to the man through petty theft, mild property damage and passive aggressive notes.
Geoff as the totally disenfranchised manager, who hates his cohort and higher ups more than any of his underlings could manage, constantly muttering insults about everyone under his breath and watching the clock tick the day away. He has somehow, very much unwillingly, managed to accidentally start collecting a little group of equally resentful coworkers to complain to and plan tiny little revolts with.
Michael and Jeremy as workerbees under Geoff, who sit in neighbouring cubicles and spend most of their days complaining to each other about this nightmare office and coming up with excuses to call Gavin up to hang out with them. Together they play really petty little tricks on one of the managers who always screams at everyone, and when Geoff catches them at it one day they think they are done for. Jeremy sees his life flash before his eyes, Michael is halfway through fantasising about flipping some desks on his way out, but Geoff just makes a suggestion, tells them last week’s efforts were much more impressive, and goes about his way. From that point on he really can’t get rid of the two of them.
Gavin as IT’s wonderchild- there isn’t a piece of hardware he can’t coax into working or any kind of software he can’t navigate in his sleep. That’s really the only reason he hasn’t been fired a million times over, what with the way he ignores clothing standards (except for on his inexplicable ‘Fancy Fridays’), rarely bothers with appropriately respectful deference, spends way too much of his time hanging out at Michael’s desk and keeps breaking into peoples accounts and leaving juvenile jokes and embarrassing viruses. But he’s just so damn good, and the fact that the terrifying head of IT has a huge soft spot for him doesn’t hurt.
Ryan as the head of the IT department who almost everyone is legitimately scared of. Who likes the computers much more than the idiots who insists on breaking them, glowers at everyone who brings him their stupid problems and is way more built than any tech nerd has any right to be. Ryan makes the whole group amusingly nervous at first, he and Geoff have a whole infamous history complete with a public screaming match over an unrecoverable destroyed hard-drive after all, but Gavin drags him along to enough lunches for everyone to see he’s mostly just a very cranky marshmallow.
Jack who works in human resources and used to be so optimistic, legitimately trying to improve everyone’s experience before slowly getting crushed under the growing hatred for the business. Jack who knows exactly who is responsible for the near daily complaints their office receives about anonymous troublemakers but is just as exasperated with the management as everyone else so helps keep them all out of trouble.
They take their lunches together, occasionally joined by Lindsay from administration and, strangely enough, two members of office security, Matt and Trevor. They make a pretty motley crew; half unnaturally peppy, half perpetually angry rainclouds, sharing each others misery and covertly planning their next big rebellion. Stealing stationary and packed lunches, spiking the punch at office parties, sabotaging the photocopier, posting embarrassing google histories, accidentally uncovering their bosses’ shady white collar dealings and making off with millions of dollars in stolen money. Wait, what?
Deadly ghost gun high capacity magazine assault clipz.
I never understand why people make such a big deal about high capacity magazines. The 50 rounder in the Saiga .223 doesn’t feed worth a damn, same with the drum. Half of them are just for the novelty/fun - the only remotely practical one pictured is the 40 round Magpul Pmag.
MadaTobi Words: 2,579 Sypnosis: Just your usual boy meets mermaid tail tale (heh.). - A/N: For our resident Dragon Queen and Koi Goddess @redhothollyberries, her beta-ing skills, her bewitching head canons, and her beautiful art that’s coming our way. Inspired by her headcanon here (x). -
Tobirama remembers a time when great
beasts flew in the sky to disrupt the calmness that engulfs him.
Lithe bodies spanned the sky, the
force of their flight tickling his hairs when he dares to venture above the
surface. It would always be worth it; to see their iridescent scales, darker
than his own, breathing in the daylight and shimmering with the undulations of
their leathered tails and necks. Trailing behind them, like an entity of their
own, are long wisps of whiskers, shaping their path for all to admire.
And when they breathe their ire, the
sky glows with their wrath. Tobirama had no name for it, only a bated breath.
The heat would travel with the waves, and touch his soaked skin. It would be
years later that the reverent whispers piercing the murky depths of his home
would give acknowledgement of these divine creatures.
Tobirama is tranquillity embodied in
all its glories and its curses. A still gradient ranging from the shallows
pierced by blades of light to the darkness that skims the core of their land.
Tobirama is serenity incarnate, a frozen line that has never bent high enough
or low enough to taste the heady relief of catharsis. Trouble won’t touch him,
excitement won’t find him, and he’s never ventured at the right time to earn
the privilege of meeting a storm. The silence of the deep sea is his only
Despite that, he closes his eyes and
sketches the sky with the same glow that he saw from long ago. Time hums on and
he refuses to forget.
Then he meets a boy.
A boy who dives into his merciless
home to capture a brother lost to him. A small cretin against the endless sea,
gasping and reaching with small hands for another body that’s jerking and
clawing at his own throat. Their hands strain to grasp each other.
The boy struggles, but his intent
does not falter. Tobirama can see that glint in his eye, burning impossibly bright
like a little koi fish swimming against the current of the Yellow River.
Tobirama tilts his head. He has
perseverance, one that will be wasted in his home.
With a billow of his tail, he surges
forwards, jerking the boys in surprise. He sweeps them into his arms – tiny
critters compared to the creatures that lurks under – and swims towards the
aimless boat floating on the surface.
Once their heads break the sea level,
Tobirama is gone. At least from their sight.
Down below, he watches them scramble
onto their tiny boat and closes his eyes, sketching behind his eyelids the
glimmering intent of the boy that dared to dive into the sea.
I wrote this a few days ago and the response to this mere stream of consciousness was overwhelming, “What if next season once Megan is out of the hospital she moves into Omelias home? Amelia moves back in but then struggles with having Megan around as there are prescription drugs (oxy) in the house and that challenges her sobriety? Her dealing with that in front of Owen is something we haven’t seen before and would be so interesting… Thoughts? Should I write a fic on this?” So I wrote a fic and here it is. I hope you enjoy it. Reviews and feedback are always welcome.
Shards of glass covered the cracks of the very thin ice I was walking on; they shredded my feet, inflicting a pain in me I had never felt before. I was in my own house but this definitely did not feel like home. The air was cold and heavy, making each breath more laboured and more desperate; you could say I was suffocating in my own home. Was it even my home anymore? It had been months since we had slept side by side, our touch keeping each other warm and safe; the faint sound of the person besides you breathing, would lie over the room like a child’s comfort blanket, but none of that existed anymore. I ran out on him, I ran out on us; I had no one to blame but myself. Had Megan not of been found alive, I honestly don’t know if I would be sitting on my side of our bed right now – it breaks my heart to admit that. When my father, Ryan, Unicorn Baby, Mark and Derek all died they all took a piece of me with them; they broke off pieces of me, little by little until I was barely a person anymore. I was the one who clawed myself back from that, from the dark abyss I had become accustomed to. But Owen was different, Owen reignited my soul. He helped patch together what was left to be salvaged and little by little he took a piece of me as well. Well, I gave him a piece of me; a piece of me I had never given to anyone else before. So when I left, when I ran away from him I left that piece behind, leaving a gaping hole in it’s midst. A hole which I have yet to fill, yet to put the missing piece back in. That being if Owen ever gave me that piece back.